here would it be now. Might as well have
thrown it in the waste-basket. So I shut down on the whole business--had
to."

Jack waited until his uncle had relieved his mind. The state of the
market had something to do with his merciless point of view; increasing
irritability, due to loss of sleep, and his habits had more. The
outburst over, Jack said in a calm direct voice, watching the effect of
the words as a gunner watches a shell from his gun:

"Will you lend it to me, sir?"

Arthur was pacing his private office, casting about in his mind how to
terminate the interview, when Jack's shot overhauled him. Garry's sudden
death had already led him to waste a few more minutes of his time than
he was accustomed to on a morning like this, unless there was business
in it.

He turned sharply, looked at Jack for an instant, and dropped into the
revolving chair fronting his desk.

Then he said in a tone of undisguised surprise:

"Lend you ten thousand dollars! What for?"

"To clear up some matters of Garry's at Corklesville. The Warehouse
matter has been closed out, so Corinne tells me."

"Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you wanted it for yourself. Who signs
for it?"

"I do."

"On what collateral?"

"My word."

Breen leaned back in his chair. The unsophisticated innocence of this
boy from the country would be amusing if it were not so stupid.

"What are you earning, Jack?" he said at last, with a half-derisive,
half-humorous expression on his face.

"A thousand dollars a year." Jack had never taken his eyes from his
uncle's face, nor had he moved a muscle of his body.

"And it would take you ten years to pay it if you dumped it all in?"

"Yes."

"Got anything else to offer?" This came in a less supercilious tone. The
calm, direct manner of the young man had begun to have its effect.

"Nothing but my ore property."

"That's good for nothing. I made a mistake when I wanted you to put it
in here. Glad you didn't take me up."

"So am I. My own investigation showed the same thing."

"And the ore's of poor quality," continued Breen in a decided tone.

"Very poor quality, what I saw of it," rejoined Jack.

"Well, we will check that off. MacFarlane got any thing he could turn
in?"

"No--and I wouldn't ask him."

"And you mean to tell me, Jack, that you are going broke yourself to
help a dead man pay his debts?"

"If you choose to put it that way."

"Put it that way? Why, what other way is there to put